


Assassination of Batman

by casfairy



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Use, Drugs, Murder, graphic detail (maybe), hitman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 00:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17274032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfairy/pseuds/casfairy
Summary: John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne.





	Assassination of Batman

I stumbled down the stairs of the dusty, dirty, old apartment as the annoying doorbell chimed repeatedly.

  
“I’m coming!” I shouted as I ran towards the once-white door, which I had to pull hard in order for it to open, “Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?” I said to the man at the door, Harvey Bullock. He pushed past me and made himself at home on the cleanest of the chairs in the sitting room.

  
“John. I have a job for you.” He said with no hint of what he was going to say next. “You need to kill Bruce Wayne for me.”

  
“Name your price and I’ll consider it,” I answered, making a cup of tea in the adjoining kitchen. Empty shells covered the table with my sub-machine gun in the middle.  
“10 million dollars. And I want it to be as dirty kill as possible. Preferably blood everywhere and a mutilated body.”

  
“That’ll cost more than 10 million, probably around 20,” I told Bullock as I fell into the dusty, melancholic sofa. I wasn’t going to give a better price for Bullock just because he’s the police.

  
“15.” Bullock negotiated. This was a better price than I expected him to say, he was tight with money, not wanting to unnecessarily spend it. He was on a 7-figure salary yet lived in an apartment almost identical to the one we were currently sat in, in east London.

  
“Deal.” I shook his clammy, hot, sweaty hand and ushered him out of the door. I didn’t want to spend more time than needed with the mousy-looking old man. I watched him as he walked down the deserted street and around a corner so I was unable to watch his movements. The first thing I did was google who Bruce Wayne was. All I knew was that he was extremely wealthy. Many news websites with headlines such as: ‘Bruce Wayne saves the day’ and ‘Billionaire playboy’ popped up. I clicked on one and it took me to a page with an image of a guy looking like a bat and a dead clown on the floor underneath his feet. The image caption was: ‘Bruce Wayne, aka Batman, captures villainous criminal The Joker’. Ahhhh. That’s who he is. I quickly google where he lives and pack all of my things in a case, including the sub-machine.

  
The dusty door closed after me as I stepped out onto the now crowded street, other two-legged creatures pushing past me as I threw the keys through the brass letterbox. I wasn’t going back. I easily blended in with the crowd of suited men, as I wore my full black 3-piece suit which is what I killed in. Everyone on the street had a destination, whether it be an office, hospital bed, or graveyard. No-one cared about anyone else, only worrying about time. This was a perfect place to murder someone. I continued walking down the street, continuously being pushed, until I reached the dark, black, criminalised alleyway which I turned down. Drug users lined the alley, sharing needles and selling various mixed drugs at many different prices.

  
“Wick.” One of the drug takers shouted after me. I turned around and realised who it was.

  
“Just the man I was looking for.” I stood in front of the man, who was dressed in a dusty grey suit, He looked out of place with the kids in tracksuits. “You have any offers on? I need something.”

  
“Offers are always on for you John. Follow me.” I followed him down the alleyway and into his surprisingly clean shop (‘Alfred’s Weaponry and Shop of Pharmaceutical Oddities’). Jars of indistinguishable objects and bags of drugs lined the place, with a wall of guns and bullets. “What do you need today Johnathan?” I surveyed the shop for a moment, my eyes landing on a shiny, new, powerful-looking Beretta M9. I picked the pistol up from the shelf and placed it in front of Alf.

  
“Bullets as well.” Alfred collected the necessary bullets for the Beretta and packed them into an inconspicuous black bag.

  
“Anything else Johnny boy?” He asked.

  
“10 grams of coke, please. Might need it for the next job.” I watched and he packed the drug into a baggie and placed it in the bag with the pistol.

  
“Who’s it this time?” Alfred rang up the items I had purchased and took the money as I handed the notes to him.

  
“Can’t say. Bullock enlisted me.” I shoved the black bag into my case and started to walk out of the shop door.

  
“That’s a shame. I’m always here to help if you need anything.”

  
“Thanks, Alf.” I strolled out of the illegal shop and walked back through the alley and out onto the street, which was now partially deserted save for a few kids walking to the local school. I walked quickly to the end of the street and hailed a black taxi to take me to Kensington. Once the taxi arrived outside number 21, W8 7BN, I took my time getting out and paying the driver, staring at the posh, bright, white house. I hadn’t been here in years. My footsteps echoed on the crunching gravel as I walked up to the brown door, staying off of the concrete path. I picked the key from my pocket and opened the well-oiled door. Someone had been here recently. The main part of the ground floor remained untouched, however, dusty footsteps led up to the first floor. I traced these prints and realised they led to my old bedroom. Why? The door was open and papers were scattered over the linoleum floor. I carefully stepped around the paper to the opened desk drawer. I realised what they had come to find. Bullets had opened the padlock I had placed on it all those years ago and fingerprints marked the handle. I pulled up the lid of the secret compartment. They hadn’t got what they wanted. I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. The golden blade lay underneath more paper printed with useless rubbish. I grabbed the blade, shoving it into a holster strapped to my chest, ran back outside, locking the door on the way, and just ran away from the house of memories.

  
I slowed down once I reached the busy streets of central London, tourists taking up the whole path. Their chatter calmed my racing heart as I surveyed the street, trying to see if Bruce Wayne was anywhere. Unfortunately, he wasn’t on The Mall so I carried on walking, fatigued from running. I walked through the crowds of tourists, heading for Wayne Manor in Oaklands Estate. The sky was clear and silence filled the air, occasionally interrupted by the chirping of birds, as I left the tourists behind. I made my way through South Lambeth, Stockwell, and Clapham until, after what felt like years, I arrived at Oaklands Estate. The houses were larger than those in Kensington, but cost slightly less, as Oaklands was not a prime location. On the edge of Oaklands, was Wayne Manor. It was a large, castle-like place sat in the middle of gardens. I pulled on my black bowler hat and walked up the long driveway. No doubt there would be CCTV and servants around but surely suited men called on Wayne all of the time, right?

  
Eventually, I reached the large, brown, oak door and lifted the heavy metal knocker, banging it thrice against the door. A servant quickly opened the door and allowed me to step inside to wait for Wayne. I looked around the hall. Portraits of past generations lined the walls, lit by a massive chandelier in the middle of the ceiling. The marble stairs were directly opposite the door and the hall had three exits. The servant led me to a set of chairs in one corner, telling me that ‘Mr. Wayne’ would be down in a while. I declined his offer of refreshments as I debated how to get the servants out of the house. This job was going to be tough.

  
Footsteps reverberated around the large hall, announcing Wayne’s presence. He stopped to talk to the servant who had let me in and headed in my direction.

  
“Who are you?” He said. No greeting, nothing. Just a simple question.

  
“I am Mr. Winston Alvarez of Kensington. I wish to discuss something personal.”

  
“What?” The raven-haired man asked gruffly. He didn’t seem pleased with my answer.

  
“One of your lovers, Vicki Vale, has sent me to discuss the possibility of marriage with you as she, unfortunately, cannot make it to tell you herself.” I improvised, using the information I had gained from a quick search on the man in front of me.

  
“Can’t we discuss it here? I don’t think the servants will tell anyone. Besides, they rely on me for income and if they betray me they’ll end up dead.” We’re more alike than I thought.

  
“You ‘think’. Isn’t there still a possibility they’ll tell someone? Also, she wanted me to tell you in secret.” I was trying to get him to call the servants off for the night.

  
“Maybe. We could take a stroll around London if you’re so paranoid.” That was a bit better.

  
“Sounds good.” I stood up from the chair, picking up my case, and walked out of the manor with Wayne. The servants bade him well, bowing down to the man as they did. Little did they know he was soon going to be six feet under.

  
We walked for a while in silence until my phone started ringing.

  
“Sorry sir. I need some privacy with this.”

  
“Sure.” Wayne walked a small distance ahead, enough so he couldn’t hear what I was saying to the other person on the phone.

  
“Bullock. What do you want? I’ve got him.” I angrily whispered to the detective.

  
“See the black Rolls on the corner? I’m watching you Wick.”

  
“So?”

  
“Tell Brucey to get in, go to a better part of London. Whilst he’s in you can kill him. The chauffeur has been notified.” I hung up on Bullock and walked quickly to meet up with Wayne.

  
“I have a chauffeur waiting over there. We can discuss the plans there as it is more private than out here.” He didn’t reply, just walked in the vague direction of where I was pointing. He trusted anyone. I opened the door of the Rolls for Wayne, showing some etiquette, and climbed in after him. The chauffeur drove off as we sat in the back, discussing wedding plans. I was improvising the whole time but I think he bought it. Once away from pedestrians and onlookers, I stealthily pulled out the blade which I had kept hidden in its holster. I made sure the doors were locked before going to stab his shoulder. However, the man turned around at the last second so I quickly hid the glinting gold down my sleeve.

  
“You know, Mr. Alvarez, I think I like you. You seem pretty trustworthy and reliable.” Wait, what? I pulled away.

  
“Really?” I questioned, hoping that my voice didn’t give anything away. With all of my past kills I had just killed them in cold blood but this man was different. Yes he was useless to society, destroying petty criminals and making them out to be extremely evil, but he seemed alright. He turned around again to face the window, whispering to himself inarticulately. I saw the opportunity and wasted no time in stabbing his shoulder. Screams filled the expensive car as red, silken, smooth blood tainted the dark leather seats and ran down Wayne’s chest.


End file.
